Forgotten Heart
by LusciniaeCantus
Summary: Some things, once given, cannot be returned. Crosses over with xxxholic. [TezukaFuji. oneshot.]


**forgotten heart**

_by LusciniaeCantus_

**Disclaimer: **Nothing but the plot is mine.

**A/N:** Written for NaLjWriMo2006.

Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews my works. You guys are great. This one is a bit-- weird. XD I had fun writing it though, so I hope you'll enjoy it too.

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As he left the small, dimly lit café, Fuji couldn't resist a quick glance backward. His hands rested snugly inside his coat pockets as clear blue eyes flickered to the little round table he'd been seated at just a while ago. A line of displeasure marred his brow when he realized his action, and forcibly looked straight ahead at the door leading outside with a slight shake of his head. He couldn't (_wouldn't_) remember when it had begun, but for the longest time, Fuji had had the distinct feeling of forgetting something or other behind whenever leaving one place for another. His features smoothed over as he nodded to the hostess by the door, smiling at her genially.

Logically, Fuji knew that he had not left anything behind. His wallet was gripped in his right hand, tucked into the fleece-lined pocket, the keys in the other, and his camera case dangled from his left wrist. He had everything; he'd double-checked every time. Yet, there was always a fluttering voice brushing the back of his mind, whispering that he'd forgotten something Very Important.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, puffing out in a small, white cloud as he opened the café door onto Tokyo's cold winter streets. Fuji glanced at his reflection in the glass windowpane, fixed his smile until he was satisfied and started off in the direction of his apartment, failing to notice the man still sitting at the little table he's occupied, staring after him with restless brown eyes. The door swung shut with a small jingle, closing on the icy draft creeping into the cozy warmth of the café.

The man's left hand reached up to straighten a pair thin-rimmed glasses that were perched on the bridge of his nose—an old habit from days past. His features were impassive, that of one used to veiling emotions and who'd grown very good at it as well, but the way his eyebrows were set and furrowed revealed a deep consternation and confusion, and his eyes held a tint of sorrow and regret. His right hand rested on the tablecloth, clutching something with long, sport-calloused fingers.

A neatly dressed waiter came up to the table, ignoring the man as he set about cleaning up the table set for one.

--

The door jingled again, this time to admit a customer, stepping in out of the chill of the approaching evening and brushed melting snowflakes from long, silky black hair. Her eyes flickered across the room without any real interest, nodding absently as the hostess greeted her with a bow and a smile. She'd looked past his table already, red-gold eyes ready to focus on the menu that's been pressed into her hand, but suddenly they widened fractionally and backtracked, and finally stopped on him. There was a curious gleam to her eyes now, and a smile was curving at her lips.

She strode over to his table, shrugged off her long overcoat, folding it over the chair, and pulled out the chair and sat down. The waiter hurried over to take down her order ("A bottle of sake would be fine, thank you.") and left to fetch it.

He could see the aura swirling around this woman, a complex flare of delicate threads of colour, reminiscent of a spider's web, or a butterfly's elusively beautiful wings. There were eddies of colours emitting from the others in the café as well, but they were all duller, dimmer; testaments to the patrons' monotonous lives. He could see these things now, had been able to ever since i that /i happened. And because he could see it, he knew that the woman sitting across from him was special—Gifted.

While she waited for her liquor to arrive, Yuuko studied the stoic-faced young man before her. His aura was strong (she wondered how she'd almost missed him), but it was a subtle strength that did not lend itself to blatant displays and thus had a tendency to go unnoticed until he chose to unleash it. It was a discipline few had, and she wondered. Once she'd caught his presence, his outline became more solid. She could hardly see the couple sitting at the table directly behind him anymore.

The waiter returned, a bottle of sake in one hand and a drinking dish in another, setting it down on the table respectfully. Yuuko smiled indulgently at him before waving a hand in dismissal, adding a twist of power into that gesture. The waiter immediately turned away without another word and walked away from the table. Likewise, the other customers' eyes drifted right past them, and no one paid any heed to the woman picking up her sake bottle with a faintly amused smile.

He could feel something in the air shift when the woman waved her hand dismissively at the waiter. It was not unlike the feeling one gets from a small electric shock. For a split second, the air was charged with _something_, and just as rapidly, it was gone. Taking a small sip from the dish she'd just poured for herself, the woman directed her strange red-gold gaze at him.

"Why do you linger here, child?"

"I must." It was a short, simple answer. There was no surprise in his voice.

Pale, slender fingers wrapped around the neck of the liquor bottle. "You are aware—"

"Yes." Again, the baritone of his voice did not waver. "I have something I must return."

Finely arched eyebrows lifted, sake dish halted half-raised. "Oh? And what does a spirit have to return to the living?"

The man was silent, the first sign of hesitation in his demeanour since their interaction. Then, with a slightly pained look in his eyes, he opened his right hand wordlessly.

She drew a sharp breath at the shimmering object, surprise widening her eyes. Then her brows descended and she gazed at him with hooded eyes that held a hint of sorrow and regret.

"You cannot give that back, young one."

His fingers twitched, and he returned Yuuko's look with one of grim determination. "I _will_."

She shook her head once, slowly. "Do you know what it is you hold in the palm of your hand?"

The bespectacled man glanced at the object lying in his hand, a frown emerging on his face. He'd never thought about what it was; he merely knew instinctively that it was precious and, more importantly, _not his to keep._ That had always been enough reason to return it to the owner. Now that he thought about it though, he found that he indeed did know what it was, and the knowledge came like an unforgotten smile, bearing with it a thousand tiny, sharp knives.

"A heart," he replied softly, reluctantly. And as he said it, he knew the woman's words to be true.

"Yes." Her voice was quiet, but firm. It did not permit him any shred of hope or doubt; he approved. "You hold someone's heart in your hands."

An almost wry smile tugged at his lips as he looked at the glimmering, deep blue gem he held. He'd always thought that hearts were red, but trust Fuji's to be in a class of his own.

"A heart, once freely given, cannot be returned," the woman continued. "The owner must reclaim it for themselves—if they so wish."

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**A/N II: **Originally written with a flashback, but decided that it was excessive and cut it out. If anyone is interested in the flashback, you can find it on my livejournal account in the comments section for the NaLjWriMo2006 entry. My username is lusciniaecantus-- the same as my handle here. :) 

Thanks for reading. Now, take a second to tell me what you thought?


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